I mentioned your writing CY to some friends ( most are creatives ) to spread the word around.
I was surprised to what they said and what is going on.
Some said they want to give up and do something else --bread and butter type work, nothing tech fancy with a short hyped up life.
They told me: some have not had work for 4 months or more; some have resorted to cutting unnecessary costs; others have moved back to their parents home rather wait for things to turn around; some even have 3 menial jobs to manage their cost of living.
I asked can they explain what is going on ? they all mentioned Trumps Beautiful tariffs will produce a recession globally, and disrupt the financial system and World trade. Shelves are empty at super markets and prices have sky rocketed.
They said it is best option is to batten the hatches -- or perhaps re-invent themselves if they can as the world has changed.
All I can say, is I was at a loss for words ... I hope they are wrong !
Far reaching tremendous thoughts in an an irresistible story that triggered memories of a book.
A century ago, I read the Walter Tevis book: steps to the rising sun. Though I do not recall the story entirely, I do remember the singing grass of the planet Belson -- when the sun sets at dusk during violet light. The narrator fled a resource depleted Earth illegally ( space flight was prohibited). One tired evening lying on the grass, the grass sang at that hour and the leaves touched his body and slowly as it sang, the leaves were detoxing his body ... this what I recall, I will have to find it in the garage and reread again.
Caves, songs, superposition, Klein bottles you story remarkably has it all. I think there are Klein Cities; you can't say CY you are from San dong, or Lisbon; or England or Australia or Tahiti. Why ? because you are a superpositioner and the world is lucky to have you in our presence revealing stories that are strange and yet wonderful. Who are you really Cy ?
Some rooms are very strange CY, they look normal at first the things go really weird ..particularly in a foreign country:
The Hotel Room And The Emperor
The candle dribbled small globules of wax on its sides and
was already half burnt. I figured another two hours of light
at most to do my work . These black outs in the city were a
nuisance but at least this time I was prepared. The Hotel
had not changed much since my last year’s assignment.
I do not know why, perhaps a coincidence that I ended
booking the same room number nine on the ninth floor
which was available. Maybe, I desire predictability and I
feel comfortable being alone in this city of twenty nine
million.
Early today, there was not a cloud in the sky. A good
opportunity. I sat by the Bund promenade and pulled out
my sketch book and water color pans from my shoulder
back pack and started to sketch. It was a good feeling and I
could sense my jet lag dissipating. I made some progress
and was happy at my output. I captured new found feelings
about Shanghai and the distant 623 meter futuristic tower,
the pearl TV tower and those distinctive pink spheres.
With all those flitting reflections of the day, the candle
progressed more down to its base. I quickly wanted to
finesse my sketch and to travel to a new location.
The room fell into total silence as I mixed the colours. I
could hear my breathing as I dabbed my brush into a red
pan to make some orange with the yellow for that skyline I
remember seeing at midday. Outside the distant traffic had
become subdued to a feint murmur, I heard some
newspapers rustling in the wind. There was a me-ow, then
nothing.
I try to recall if I ever noticed intense silence of this room
before. As far as I could remember the city was always
bustling with commotion and one acclimatized to the city
sounds easily after a few days.
I lifted my brush to fill in the skyline but felt a restraining
force and could put my brush tip to paper. Try as I may ,
something was blocking my attempts to add colour. I could
not move my hand. What happened next the my sketchbook
flipped over to a new page. This seemed very weird as I
was not contemplating on doing a new sketch tonight, let
alone one of emperor Qin Shi Huang and his forbidden
terracotta Army tomb as I quickly found out.
I looked around the room the curtains were drawn, I did
not remember doing drawing then aside this morning I
always let the light in. The next thing that happened was
that on the blank page a feint outline portrait of the emperor
emerged as if developing in photographic dish. Was I to
draw the emperor? and for what purpose?
The tomb remained excavated in the Lintong District,
Xi'an, Shaanxi and was not on my itinerary. There was even
some talk of a curse amongst archaeologists who too scared
to excavate further.
I watched in astonishment as my hand finished the portrait.
I stared at the emperor’s eyes and asked what do you want
from me? I knew now this is not a normal room and that my
life would change forever if I was not careful. Then I
thought of flying back to Melbourne on the first flight out
tomorrow morning. I had to get out fast, I was sure I would
encounter more wandering spirits with their unresolved
issues that I did not want any part of.
Thanks for reading my comments.
I mentioned your writing CY to some friends ( most are creatives ) to spread the word around.
I was surprised to what they said and what is going on.
Some said they want to give up and do something else --bread and butter type work, nothing tech fancy with a short hyped up life.
They told me: some have not had work for 4 months or more; some have resorted to cutting unnecessary costs; others have moved back to their parents home rather wait for things to turn around; some even have 3 menial jobs to manage their cost of living.
I asked can they explain what is going on ? they all mentioned Trumps Beautiful tariffs will produce a recession globally, and disrupt the financial system and World trade. Shelves are empty at super markets and prices have sky rocketed.
They said it is best option is to batten the hatches -- or perhaps re-invent themselves if they can as the world has changed.
All I can say, is I was at a loss for words ... I hope they are wrong !
Far reaching tremendous thoughts in an an irresistible story that triggered memories of a book.
A century ago, I read the Walter Tevis book: steps to the rising sun. Though I do not recall the story entirely, I do remember the singing grass of the planet Belson -- when the sun sets at dusk during violet light. The narrator fled a resource depleted Earth illegally ( space flight was prohibited). One tired evening lying on the grass, the grass sang at that hour and the leaves touched his body and slowly as it sang, the leaves were detoxing his body ... this what I recall, I will have to find it in the garage and reread again.
Caves, songs, superposition, Klein bottles you story remarkably has it all. I think there are Klein Cities; you can't say CY you are from San dong, or Lisbon; or England or Australia or Tahiti. Why ? because you are a superpositioner and the world is lucky to have you in our presence revealing stories that are strange and yet wonderful. Who are you really Cy ?